


A Dagger from the Dark

by drakhus67820



Series: Steampunk Westeros [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Assassination Attempt(s), F/M, Rhaegar Lives, Treason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-13
Updated: 2018-07-13
Packaged: 2019-06-09 22:51:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15277926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drakhus67820/pseuds/drakhus67820
Summary: Jon Snow could not see the dagger from the dark.Part of Westeros Steampunk, translated by TheScarletGarden.It's a Prequel for "Bleeding Heart".





	A Dagger from the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in French, translated by TheScarletGarden, je ne te dirais jamais assez merci pour ton formidable travail mon amie. <3  
> The moodboard is the creation of Justwanderingneverlost thank my dear friends <3  
> Please don't hesitate to comment =)

301 After the Conquest

The snow softly crunched under their feet as the three men quietly advanced into the courtyard of Castle Black. At the foot of the titanic Wall, the world seemed immersed in a serene silence, far from the fury of the battle that had raged there barely ten days ago.

Yet here and there, the traces of the battle couldn’t have been cleaned, bullet holes contoured by traces of burns, sometimes rare wet blood stains could be distinguished, smearing the walls of the courtyard.

It was Jon Snow who reacted first to the noise, barely perceptible but terribly familiar: the clicking of a revolver being armed. His first reaction was to push his companion by the shoulders to put him down. In doing so he felt the bite of a bullet that lodged in his shoulder.

The rest happened quickly. Jon shouted to the oldest of the two men to shelter their companions. Then he turned around, discovering to his surprise that their attackers were men with whom he had fought some days before.

“Traitors,” Jon murmured.

“For the Watch,” replied a voice behind him before feeling the bite of a blade between the plates of his armor.

Jon groaned, turning to his attacker, his own weapon in hand. Pointing the barrel of the revolver under the chin of the traitor he did not hesitate, pulling the trigger. The bullet exploded beneath the chin of the perjurer, and in a scarlet rain of mingled brains and shredded bones, the traitor fell. The act had lasted barely a few seconds, but enough to allow one of his enemies to shoot him again. Fortuitously, the black steel armor protected him effectively, although the shock, the force and the impact took his breath away.

Moved by instinct, born of his training at the War Academy, Jon did not waste time: he directed the barrel of his weapon towards the nearest man, shooting without warning. The blow hit its target; barely protected by leather, it instantly touched his belly in a spray of blood. The assassin fell to the ground screaming, a bloody wound in his stomach. Jon tried to shoot another, but a blow to the head made him drop his weapon. Stunned, he felt more than he saw the three stabs that followed. Roaring with pain as much as fury, the young officer managed to take his own dagger.

A shot rang out again; this time it hit home. Jon collapsed in the snow. With tears in his eyes, he uttered a pitiful whimper. Rolling in the snow, he tried with difficulty to get up. A lost cause, as he barely managed to get back on his knees.

Jon forced his gaze toward his shoulder. He had no doubts: the shot had hit it, the steel of his armor could not stop the bullet. Numb, whether by pain, injury or cold, his right arm refused to even move and merely hang on miserably.

His assailants were only dancing shadows, but their voices were still clear in his ears.

“For the Watch.” The traitors suddenly beat him, eventually one of them managed to cruelly stab Jon’s arms and shoulders with a knife.

“Stop playing, and slaughter me the Stark bastard! Now!” The voice was frightened, a note of urgency in it.

They then took him by the shoulders to put him back on his knees, which tore a pained whimper from Jon. He felt the icy steel that would end his life being placed delicately under his throat. Jon heaved a bitter sigh, and he would die like that? Killed by dirty traitors? He wanted to shower them with insults, to curse them until the end of time… but what’s the point?

The tension left him then, and bitter but dignified he resigned himself to his fate. At the gates of Death, his last thoughts, as cliché as they were, went yet again to a young woman with silver hair to whom he was going to break the promise to return to her. The beautiful young woman to whom he never had a chance to tell how much he was in love with.

“I’m sorry, Dany,” Jon murmured as several shots rang out in the yard. Then his vision faded to black.


End file.
